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Saturday, January 24, 2015

Ghost in the House

There was talk of ghosts and hauntings, so Leah said I must do today's prompt. And I'm so glad I did. This scene would take place right after 'Quiet Awakening' and lead us into what I ingeniously call 'Quiet Awakening Two.'

I hope someday there will be a 'Two.' Meanwhile:

Writing prompt for January 24, 2015: Write a scene that
starts with the line, "There's a ghost in this house."

“There’s a ghost
in this house,” Chancey whispered, a mock-quiver in his voice.

Wynn didn’t even smile at the pun as he opened
the large door from inside the ancient chateau. He stepped aside and ushered the other two across
the stone threshold.

“Get it?” Daimon
chuckled and elbowed Wynn as he passed. “A ghost? Good one Chance.”

“Don’t be an ass.”
Wynn ignored them both and moved further into the foyer, intent on his goal. “The
cellar should be this way.”

Once known for its
violent hauntings, Chateau de Reims had been put on the Astraelles’ radar until
any hint of ethereal clogging had been removed. No, ghosts didn’t reside here
any longer. But legend said there was still wine.

Very old wine.

Hopefully old enough
to tempt a zealot king.

Wynn didn’t slow
til he’d hit the stairway at rear of the chateau leading down. He rested his hand against the stone
wall and sighed, letting the earth’s power slowly seep through into his palm. He
was tired. And he missed Aimee.

“Back of the
kitchen,” Wynn hollered up the stairs.

He heard Daimon
and Chancey’s boots redirect overhead and the sounds of their banter echoing
closer. The bouncing beam of Chancey’s flashlight skimmed past the cellar door,
then moved back.

“Here we are.”
Chancey grinned down at Wynn. He shouldered his pick axe again and beckoned to
Daimon. “Hell henchmen first.”

Daimon spun the
handle of his sledge hammer and bowed, then turned down the steps after Wynn. Finding
the bricked up chiller room was easy enough. Smashing through the wall without
damaging bottles on the other side was another matter.

“That’s good,”
Wynn said when they’d made a hole the size of a head,
kicking debris aside. “We don’t need to take the entire thing down. I’ll
just trace in and hand you a bottle of whatever I find.”

Chancey pointed
his flashlight through and a ray of light gleamed off row upon row of dusty bottles.

Daimon whistled. “Looks
like we hit the winepot.”

“We’ll just take
one,” Wynn said, laying a bottle into the hole.

The glass rang low
on the stone as Chancey slid it through. He focused his flashlight to find a marking or label, rubbing at the dust with his thumb. Wynn reappeared behind him and leaned over
his shoulder.

“No.” Wynn shook
his head. The zealot king still negotiated by old-world rules—a hand for a hand,
an eye for an eye. “That would make him suspicious. All we need is this. One
bottle of aged wine for one bottle of aged djinn.”